Dealing card games with the old men in the club carPenny a point ain't noone keeping scorePass the paper bag but hold the bottleFeel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel Mother with her babes asleep rocking to the gentle beat And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.Chorus. (As above)

Nightime on the City of New OrleansChanging cars in Memphis TennesseeHalf way home we'll be there by morningthrough the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea. But all the towns and people seem to fade into a dark dream And the steel rail still ain't heard the news The conductor sings his songs again, the passagers will please refrain This train got the disappearing railroad blues.

Chorus:Good night America, How are you?Say, don't you know me, I'm your native son.I'm the train they call the City of New OrleansI'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

{title:City of New Orleans}{st:Steve Goodman}{c:(capo 3)}[G]Riding on the [D]City of New Or[G]leans,[Em]Illinois Central, [C]Monday morning [G]rail,[G]Fifteen cars and fi[D]fteen restless [G]riders,Three con[Em]ductors, and t[D]wenty five sacks of [G]mail.

All a[Em]long the southbound odyssey,The [Bm]train pulls out of Kankakee,And [D]rolls along the houses, farms and [A]fields.

[Em]Passing trains that have no name,And [Bm]freight yards full of old black men,And [D]graveyards of the rusted automo[G]biles.

{c:Chorus:} [C]Good morning Am[D]erica, how a[G]re you? Say [Em]don't you know me, [C]I'm your native [G]son. [D]I'm the [G]train they call the [D]City of New [Em]Orleans, I'll be gon[F]e five [C]hundred miles[D] when the day is [G]done.

Dealing card games with the old men in the club cars,A penny a point, ain't no one keeping score.Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle,And feel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor.

And the sons of Pullman porters,And the sons of engineers,Ride their fathers' magic carpet made of steel.

Mothers with their babes asleep,Rocking to the gentle beat,And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.

{c:Chorus.}

Nighttime on the City of New Orleans,Changing cars in Memphis, Tennesee.Halfway home, and we'll be there by morning,Through the Misissippi darkness, rolling down to the sea.

But all the towns and people seemTo fade into a bad dream,The steel rail still ain't heard the news.

{c:Chorus:} Goodnight America, how are you? Say don't you know me, I'm your native son. I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans, I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.## Submitted to the ftp.nevada.edu:/pub/guitar archives# by Steve Putz (putz@parc.xerox.com) # 7 September 1992

# Additional notes:from Kevin Jaszek (Pinballwzrd3Aol.com):## If one were to use the chord shapes recommended, which do work# fine, they would be best served to have their guitar tuned one half step# down from standard tuning rather than attaching a capo to the third fret as# recommended by the tab, should they want to play along with the recording.

Arlo plays the song in F sharp, I think. So if you want to play along with the album, here´s what I have:

City Of New Orleans Steve Goodman

Capo 1st fret

(F) Riding on the (C)City of New (F)Orleans,(Dm)Illinois Central, (Bb)Monday morning (F)rail,Fifteen cars and (C)fifteen restless (F)riders,Three con(Dm)ductors, (C)twenty five sacks of (F)mail.All a(Dm)long the southbound odyssey,The (Am)train pulls out of Kankakee,And (C)rolls along past houses, farms and (G)fields.(Dm)Passing trains that have no name,And (Am)freight yards full of old black men,And the (C)graveyards of the (C7)rusted automo(F)biles.

(Bb)Good morning, A(C)merica, how (F)are you?Say, (Dm)don't you know me? (Bb)I'm your native (F)son.(C)I'm (C7)the (F)train they call the (C)City of New (Dm)Orleans,(Dm7/C)(G7/B)I'll be (Eb)gone five (Bb/D)hundred (C)miles when the (C7)day is (G)done.

Dealing card games with the (C)old men in the (F)club cars,(Dm)Penny a point, ain't (Bb)no one keeping (F)score.Pass the paper (C)bag that holds the (F)bottle,And (Dm)feel the wheels (C)rumbling 'neath the (F)floor.And the (Dm)sons of Pullman portersAnd the (Am)sons of engineersRide their (C)fathers' magic carpets made of (G)steel.(Dm)Mothers with their babes asleep,Are (Am)rocking to the gentle beat,And the (C)rhythm of the (C7)rails is all they (F)feel.

(Bb)Good morning, A(C)merica, how (F)are you?Say, (Dm)don't you know me? (Bb)I'm your native (F)son.(C)I'm (C7)the (F)train they call the (C)City of New (Dm)Orleans,(Dm7/C)(G7/B)I'll be (Eb)gone five (Bb/D)hundred (C)miles when the (C7)day is (G)done.

Nighttime on the (C)City of New (F)Orleans,(Dm)Changing cars in (Bb)Memphis, Tennes(F)see.Halfway home, and (C)we'll be there by (F)morning,Through the (Dm)Misissippi darkness, (C)rolling down to the (F)sea.But (Dm)all the towns and people seemTo (Am)fade into a bad dream,And the (C)steel rail still ain't heard the (G)news.The con(Dm)ductor sings his songs again,The (Am)passengers will please refrain,This (C)train's got the disap(C7)pearin' railroad (F)blues.

(Bb)Goodnight A(C)merica, how (F)are you?Say, (Dm)don't you know me? (Bb)I'm your native (F)son.(C)I'm (C7)the (F)train they call the (C)City of New (Dm)Orleans,(Dm7/C)(G7/B)I'll be (Eb)gone five (Bb/D)hundred (C)miles when the (C7)day is (F)done.

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